


Shell

by Mirabel_larke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Dark Clarke, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hurt Clarke, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Protective Bellamy, Sick Clarke, Worried Bellamy, canon compliant through S2, lincoln is alive, linktavia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirabel_larke/pseuds/Mirabel_larke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has a problem. Bellamy and the others want to help.</p><p>Fuller explanation inside. Post S2. Canon compliant. Bellarke. Kind of dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so it has been a long time since I wrote fanfiction. I'm talking a decade. I got back into reading last year thanks to my totally normal healthy Bellarke obsession, but figured I was done authoring anything of my own long ago. 
> 
> Cut to a few days ago when I couldn't get this fic out of my head. 
> 
> What resulted from years of not writing was a very scattered and unorganized writing process. WHICH MEANS by the time I got the the final chapter written, I had left about three earlier chapters unfinished. 
> 
> The chapters have been posted in a scattered order. The chapter below is the official first chapter, but currently chapter 2 is really the final chapter. The most recently added chapter is actually the 3rd chapter. Only the 2nd chapter remains to be posted, and I will put in sequential order once the work is complete.
> 
> PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING BEFORE FIC:
> 
> \- Abby got an infection from the bone-marrow draining and died a month after Clarke left Camp Jaha  
>  
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. I don't own The 100 or the characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Thanks for the comments and kudos! I'm sorry it has taken me a while to get back to this.
> 
> The weakest chapter for me has always been the first. So I've played around with it a lot and ultimately decided I just need to post it so I can go ahead and add the more meaty stuff. 
> 
> So this is the first official chapter of Shell.
> 
> This story is only canon compliant through the Season 2 finale. Clarke was out alone in the woods for 3 months. This picks up 3 months after she left. There is peace on the ground for now and though grounders are in awe of Wanheda, she is not hunted as she is in Season 3.
> 
> Also Wicken is still a thing because I love Wick and I refuse to accept his absence in Raven Reyes life.
> 
> And I promise more Bellarking ahead :)

Clarke returned on a day like any other. Fall was beginning to fade into winter and the sky was grey and bleak for most of the morning. She appeared with the sun, as it fought through the heavy morning clouds and brightened the afternoon sky.

Raven hadn’t been there. She didn’t work on the walls after all. But just as soon as there was the rumblings of commotion, Harper burst into engineering.

“She’s back. Clarke’s back.”

Raven stared at her a moment, then caught Wick’s eyes for another - before all three of them were running. Well, Harper was running. Raven was scurrying along as quickly as her bum leg would allow in the colder air, and Wick was in step beside her.

They reached the front gate just as the door was closing, and Raven could see a bit of red hair peeking out from a dark hood. Miller’s back was to them but he had an arm on the figures stiff shoulder. It was enough to know it was her. 

Their group of three moved forward again in tandem, reaching Clarke and collectively heaving a sigh of relief when the face close up confirmed it was, in fact, their lost Princess.

Clarke Griffin had returned, and what timing she had. Just 3 days before the 100 and a few Arkers were implementing the move back to the Dropship. 

It had been a long three months since Clarke had left them. Much had changed, but it seemed time couldn’t change everything. The delinquents were still seen as outsiders. Even if it was for different reasons now - because they were savage, and cunning, and more understanding of the way of the ground - but outsiders no less. And it didn’t feel good to any of them.

After Abby had died, Bellamy and a few others had gone to Marcus with the proposal. A separate but united colony where all Arkers were welcome but none forced. Where those who wanted to live with their grief - not deny or ignore it - could do so in peace. Without being made to feel they were not proper member of the community. 

Marcus had approved and they’d spent the last two weeks finalizing the preparations. He had no fight in him to tell the kids he’d once condemned they couldn’t have the one thing they asked for. Marcus was mourning Abby himself and learning how to lead without him at her side.

Abby. The pain and reminder struck Raven like a lightning bolt, more sharp than ever as she realized they now had to tell Clarke. Clarke, who had already lost so many. Had already lost so much.

Raven swallowed hard and smiled when Clarke’s eyes finally drifted over her. Clarke held her gaze, and it felt heavy and charged, but she didn’t smile back. Raven took a half step forward and raised her hands to lower Clarke’s hood. Clarke allowed it but lowered her eyes to the ground in something that looked like shame. 

Without the dark cloak framing her face and neck, Raven could see how thin she was. Her cheeks were hollow and her collarbone protruded in a way it never had. She was pale and had heavy circles under her eyes, but she was here.

“Are you back?”

“I’m back,” came the hoarse reply of a voice not used to speaking.

Raven nodded once, then wrapped her arms firmly around the girl she considered family, feeling a burn of warmth rush through her when Clarke’s tentative arms came to lightly rest on Raven’s back. 

A second later the moment was broken as both Blake’s came barreling forward. But Raven held onto the warmth as she leaned back into Wick and held back the tears swelling in her eyes.

Octavia looked furious, and so did Bellamy actually, but his face was so filled with hope and relief at the same time that Raven knew it would be okay.

Raven had been there when Bellamy told Clarke about her mother. It was only a short time later, after they had gotten Clarke inside and someone had fetched her some water and food. Clarke had looked broken - more broken than Raven had ever seen - but it was all in her eyes and the slight heaving of her chest. She sat heavily onto the bed behind her but did not cry. Clarke was silent for the most part. She asked a few questions about the details - when, how, had she been in pain - but there was a heartbreaking defeat in Clarke’s stance that looked a lot like acceptance; something Raven herself had struggled to reach in the days following the death of the most mother-like figure she had ever known. Clarke didn’t say anything else for a long time, and Raven just sat next to her on the bed and held her from the side. Offering whatever silent support she thought Clarke would allow. 

There wasn’t much done that day. Clarke barely said a word, nibbled at a piece of dried meat only when prompted a number of times by Bellamy and Monty. She agreed easily when they told her they were going back to the dropship in a few days, and that they’d like her to come with them.

There wasn’t anything left at Arkadia for Clarke anyway. 

She had spent most of her time with Raven and Wick those days at Arkadia. They worked inside and were infrequently bothered by passerby’s. She was quiet and serious and nothing like the Clarke that Raven knew before the mountain. None of them were, but this was different. 

It was like something vital to Clarke’s being had been eradicated with Level 5. Raven had hope being back around her own people would help mend that missing piece, but not much.

Mostly it just seemed like Clarke was content in her bubble of numbness. Raven knew it couldn’t last forever, but she didn’t want to push Clarke while they were still at Arkadia. Clarke said she was back for good, so they had time. They didn’t have a lot of things, but for now at least, with no war on the horizon, they had time. Raven could give her that.

The move itself was already orchestrated, so when the time came all Clarke did was follow along with her meager bag of supplies on her shoulder. 

They had been making trips to the Dropship daily in preparation, so things were setup when they arrived. It no longer looked like a barren graveyard, with burn marks scorching the earth. For that they were all grateful. 

Clarke didn’t say it, but Raven could see it in her eyes when she caught sight of green grass where she expected coal and decay. 

After the move Clarke kept even more to herself, opting to spend the day in her solo tent or off by the outskirts of their border staring into the forest for hours on end. 

Raven would see Bellamy sit with her sometimes, but he, too, was discouraged by her silence. 

He didn’t like to talk about it. Not that Raven did. But the one time she and Bellamy did manage a real conversation regarding Clarke, it revealed an unchecked anger simmering below the surface of Bellamy’s skin. 

She was supposed to be away healing, Bellamy had said. 

She had left them all in her first selfish decision since landing because she said it was what she needed. 

But she had been wrong. So wrong. 

Bellamy was angry about it. Not enough to push Clarke any further away then she already was, but maybe that was part of the problem. They were all holding back with Clarke. And no one felt better for it. 

 

At first, the specifics that suggested there was a real problem were near impossible for Raven to pickup on. They all dealt with the fallout of the war in their own ways. 

Some, like Jasper, with undeniable PTSD. Others, like Harper, with nightmares so bad she’d sometimes work until collapsing, with insomnia so significant they were constantly searching for and sampling teas and leaves and remedies to try and make the nights more bearable. 

But they simply hadn’t been focused on mental health on the Ark. They lived in space as survivors. They were fed vitamin D and antidepressants in their daily food to prevent problems and if problems arose, they were dealt with swiftly, treated as seriously as a broken bone or a debilitating flu. But unless you were on track to become a doctor, it was not something you were taught about as a child. Psychology. The importance of mood and brain chemistry and support. 

And the problems with Clarke were subtle. She was surrounded by kids who were all fighting their own mental wars. People wanted to give her time and space because it seemed like what Clarke wanted, and what was best for her. The biggest problems Clarke had appeared the most harmless at first. 

She had trouble eating, she told Raven quietly one night, because when she lived on her own, she didn’t catch very much. Now eating a full serving of the meats they served hurt her stomach and made her ill. She could only tolerate smaller portions and lighter foods like nuts and berries - items that became more scarce as winter drew nearer. 

But then Clarke would stop coming to sit with them at meals all together. It wasn’t like her presence was huge when she came - she was quiet and sullen - but she was present no less. 

She said she stopped coming because it made her too anxious to stomach eating….seeing them all sitting around in their makeshift mess hall but instead seeing the mutilated faces of those laid dead on their plates in the mountain. 

It was hard to fight her on that.

And then Clarke agreed to work in medical, after about a week and a half at the new camp. That had been considered a big win. She would be interacting with people all day. Most injuries now were easy to tend to, and her friends hoped it would make her feel accomplished, like she was helping them to heal.

But Clarke remained withdrawn. Although no one would say it, it was making everyone in their group of friends anxious. Even Octavia, who still claimed to hate Clarke and would turn away anytime they shared space, was affected negatively by Clarke’s energy. 

This girl, who had been their light for so long, was now a permeating darkness and the whole camp could feel it. 

Raven knew something had to be done. They couldn’t continue on like this and they didn’t HAVE to. The war was over. They finally had some semblance of peace and that was in large part thanks to Clarke. They deserved a happy ending and Raven was more determined than ever to make sure they got one. 

Whatever it took, they would get there. They could help Jasper and Harper and all the others find their way back to themselves; they would find a way to bring Clarke back. Whatever it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoy, apologies if it feels like not much happens. It's more setup than anything else. I'll add the additional chapters I have in the next few weeks as I edit them. Let me know if you have any questions or requests!!


	2. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the updates coming out of order. This is the official 3rd chapter of this 4 chapter piece. The 2nd chapter will be added at a later time. 
> 
> Also in this universe Lincoln is alive. And will be forever. That is all.

Clarke was freezing. Not like 'its so cold, I'm freezing,' like she was pretty sure her eyelashes were frozen in clumps of beaded ice drops. Everyone at camp slept with someone else. Everyone except her and except Bellamy. She's been invited to join tents, but she likes having her own private space. Obviously. 

But this is the first night of winter that is so bitingly cold, her earbuds are crying out in pain. It's in her chest and her fingernails and toes. 

At first she thinks she can manage it with her furs, trapping her body heat and keeping it cocooned over her head. But it becomes clear pretty quickly she will literally get hypothermia if she doesn't do something. She groans loudly because she doesn't want to do what she's about to, and also she is so fucking cold. 

She clears her throat, then calls "Octavia" in a shaking but loud voice. She wanted to be loud enough the first time. No one else will hear her. The wind is whipping too loudly to carry the sound. And she's tired. 

a few minutes go by (maybe? Time is non descript at this point) and Clarke has to resist the pull of sleep. She's thinking about calling out again, wondering if she can actually yell with her aching chest and squeezing lungs - but she's saved from finding out. 

Octavia bursts through the tent flaps, too much energy and presence to Compute at this hour. She's wearing her winter jacket and a scowl and Clarke idly thinks she looks like an ice princess warrior. 

"What?"

Clarke doesn't know if she just said what she was thinking out loud or if Octavia is prompting her. 

"I'm sorry but---" Clarke says, but she doesn't because the breathy words that fall from her lips are indistinguishable through the chattering of her teeth. She tries again. 

"Cold. Need body heat."

This time Octavia seems to get it. An emotion flashes on her face but Clarke is way too tired to examine it. 

Octavia mumbles something under her breath as she walks swiftly towards Clarke's bed, shedding the heavy coat as she goes. Next comes Lincoln's sweater, her warm pajama shirt and then her bra. She leaned over Clarke and tucked the blanket even more firmly underneath her and picked up her discarded coat from the ground to drape over Clarke for good measure. Then she none so gently shoved the shriveling little form towards the center of the mattress. Octavia lifts the blanket on her side just slightly, and looks apologetic as the cold air rushes into what little bubble of heat had been trapped. 

Octavia's hands are suddenly on Clarke's stomach, and Clarke hadn't even noticed she had slid in beside her. She lifts Clarke shirt up, then winds her arm around Clarke's waist and pulls her bare stomach (and bare chest, hello baby Blake) against her own. 

Octavia lets out a hiss at the same time as Clarke.

Clarke had picked her tent because it was the furthest away from the center of camp. But Lincoln and Octavia had a similar idea so they too were placed near the edge. Clarke knew Octavia didn't like having her there, but it meant there was no end of the day small talk or morning chats. Which suited Clarke just fine.

They're quiet for a minute, Octavia doing her best to wrap herself around as much of Clarke's shivering form as humanely possible. It was quite startling for Octavia honestly. She could feel every one of Clarke's ribs. And the older girl was shaking with such force O worried she was going to break something. 

"You're an idiot, Clarke."

"Mmm," comes a mumbled response. 

"This doesn't change anything."

"I know." Then, "thanks Octavia," soft and like a hum. 

Octavia grunts indistinctly. 

It's probably the longest conversation they've had since the mountain. And Clarke is 95% certain the tightening grip of Octavia's hold really happened and not just her delusional mind playing tricks on her.  
Octavia definitely gives her a little squeeze undermining her complete indifference. It's not Clarke's delusional mind playing tricks on her at all. (But really, it isn't.)

The extreme, body jarring shakes seemed to have passed, but Clarke was still shivering hard enough to keep herself awake. Her whole body was tense and locked and stiff in the most painful way. 

Octavia knew Lincoln was awake anyway. She had tried to be careful climbing out of bed, but Clarke's cry had woken him too. And besides, he always woke when she stirred. So she called out to him, knowing she wouldn't be returning to their tent anytime soon.

Lincoln appeared almost immediately and despite the bleakness of the current situation Octavia's chest still squeezed. 

"Is she okay?"

"No she's not okay, she's got zero body fat and she's literally going to freeze her ass off," Octavia scowled. "I'll stay here tonight. Can you bring one of our furs over though?"

Lincoln nods and disappears, returning swiftly with their warmest fur.

"Princess treatment or what," Octavia muttered, more amiable than she had intended. But the blonde didn't reply and before Octavia knows it, Lincoln's sweater is off and he's on the bed at Clarke's back, draping the warm blanket over all three of them. He shuffled forward until he was pressed firmly against Clarke's back, winding one arm underneath her neck and the other arm draped on top of Octavia's, where it lay over Clarke's waist. Lincoln's large hand underneath the slight blonde reaches out for Octavia, and her face is so close she tilts up and kisses the tip of his fingers. 

"Lincoln, you don't have to-" Octavia began, but she stopped herself short when she felt Clarke take a huge inhale, then basically melt between them as the tension in her limbs finally relented. Lincoln was big and warm with sleep and sandwiched between the two of them Clarke was quickly starting to heat. Almost as suddenly as the shivering died down, Clarke's breaths evened out as exhaustion carried her to sleep. 

The cold had kicked her ass. 

"I can feel her bones against my own with her every breath. She cannot go on like this."

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know how valuable kudos and comments are to a writer. If you enjoyed, please let me know :)


	3. Chapter 4

It all comes to a head about a week after Clarke started sleeping in Murphy's bed. 

Bellamy is waiting for her when she soundlessly slips out of Murphy's tent before the sun has even burst from the horizon with the start of a new day. He's standing so close to the tent that she very nearly bumps into him as she exits. 

She looks up at him, and he's surprised to see some actual emotion flicker across her stoic face. But just as quickly as it's there, it's gone, while Bellamy's white hot anger burns strong. 

"What is this?" His voice is steel and it cuts through the morning silence like an axe through flesh. 

Clarke doesn't say anything, she just stares at him. 

"Murphy, really? I knew the princess had fallen but I had no idea how low." 

There is such poison in his voice, such malice, he barely even recognizes himself. He hasn't said 'princess' that way in so long, and the words feel wrong in his mouth. 

It's not so much the words as the tone that has Clarke standing up a little taller, like her back hadn't already been ramrod straight. "Well now you do," she says simply, then walks away. 

She's not walking towards anything. Just away from him. And he realizes belatedly that its the direction opposite the mess hall. He sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face, knowing she won't be showing up for breakfast today. 

He scowls and heads for the bathrooms, taking care of his morning business before stomping towards the mess hall, even more grumpy than he had been 5 minute ago. 

He doesn't know why he said it. He doesn't know why it hurt so much when he realized three nights ago she'd been sneaking off to Murphy's tent. He didn't even really know what they were doing in the tent, though he had his bitter suspicions. But he had wanted to hurt her. He had wanted to make her feel something, anything, just find that Clarke was awake somewhere inside there. And he had been successful in hurting her, he was sure. But it hadn't been satisfying. Not in the least. 

He finds Miller at their usual table, and roughly shoves some ration packs in his arms. 

"Clarke isn't coming to breakfast," Bellamy said. "Bring those to her and make sure she eats them."

Miller stood and nodded, sparing an extra half nod towards Monty as he heads out the door in search of the broken blonde. 

She didn't eat the rations of course. Miller found Bellamy an hour later with an armful of rations and a guilty expression. Not that Bellamy genuinely expected different. But Miller and Clarke had a solid, quiet impassiveness in common now and, well, he had hoped maybe...

But they all know by now that even in her weird, disengaged state, no one could make Clarke Griffin do something she didn't want to do. 

Bellamy's agitation was channeled into drills he was running. And by the time lunch came both him and his team were spent and starving. 

They all moved towards the mess together but Bellamy stays outside. He didn't want to intimidate Clarke or anything but he wanted her to see him out here. Make it clear he wasn't going in for lunch if she wasn't going in with him. He'd hunger strike if he had to. It's not like he hadn't resorted to it before. 

But she's no where in sight for the rest of the day, and every time he asks someone if they've seen her they give him an uncomfortable look and a shrug before turning away.

By evening it's 10 minutes into dinner and he has had enough. She's surfaced, so that's something, but she's sitting resolutely by the campfire, ignoring him completely and clearly not intending on moving. He barks her name a few times before he finally loses it. 

"ENOUGH with this Clarke, enough!" He wraps his hand firmly around her upper arm and yanks her up. 

She glares at him without heat for a moment before he sees her pale. Even in the fading dusk light her face goes so white he can see the difference. He's seen this before of course and assumes she's about to vomit like every other time, so he releases her arm, ready to follow on her heels as she bolts behind a tent. 

But she doesn't run, and it turns out removing his grip was the wrong move because she immediately starts wobbling. Her knees buckle so unsteadily beneath her that he doesn't react for a moment, too surprised by her jarred movements to move. Clarke's eyes wide almost comically and she looks just as alarmed as he does. But then her eyes are rolling up in her head and her body is collapsing in on itself, and he's moving. 

He's got her against him before she's even near the floor, but he crouches down the rest of the way to his knee so her legs are laid out in front but her upper body is propped up against his thigh. 

There is panic blooming in him quickly. Dark and frantic. He pushes his fingers into her neck and feels a flash of relief when the thrumming is strong, if not a little erratic, under his fingers. 

It's not like he didn't think she was okay. She didn't eat all goddamn day of course she passed out. But he can't help the blind terror that shoots through him seeing her so limp and pale and helpless. 

He hears voices behind him, and notices for the first time there's a small crowd gathered at his back. They're speaking to him, asking him questions they know he can't answer. He doesn't focus on what any of them are saying until Lilac kneels beside him, her voice gentle but sure. 

"Her head needs to be level with her heart, it's better to lay her flat," she encourages with a slight push on his leg. He adjusts her immediately, laying her head gently on the earth. The hand behind her head that had guided her down moves to join his other, cupped around her cheeks. Her blonde hair splays out underneath her like a goddamn halo. 

She looks like the angel of death. 

He hears Lilac's soft voice again, "I'm going to go get some cloth and water, one sec," before her presence at his side is gone and everyone else once again fades away. 

Fuck, she had to be okay. He couldn't take the (ok, he knows it's irrational) guilt that he should have, could have taken better care of her. As if there was something he could have done differently like actually tie her down and force food down her throat rather than let it get literally to the point of collapse. Because if it hadn't been triggered by his Murphy comment this morning it would have been about something else tomorrow, or the day after that. He'd been waiting for it. She's disappearing in front of him. She's back - Clarke's back and safe and he's pretty much accepted she's not going to disappear once more into the trees - but she's vanishing before his eyes and he's just standing there, unable to stop it. 

Then Lilac is back, this time in front of him and at Clarke's side. She wipes a dripping wet cloth over Clarke's forehead, then moves it down her neck and behind to the back, just like Clarke had taught her. 

Slowly Clarke comes to. Her eyelids start fluttering and Lilac backs up, offering Bellamy a small smile and the cloth as she ushers the crowd away. 

Bellamy pulls his sleeve down over his hand and dabs at Clarke's forehead, then so softly traces down the side of her face to the nape of her neck, erasing the water tracks. She's cold enough, she doesn't need to be wet too. 

It takes her another minute, but then she shakes her head a little and her eyes are opening and she's blinking up at him. He doesn't know if he's about to burst out laughing or cry. She has never looked as young to him as she does in this moment. 

They are all so young. 

He barks out a choked laugh and shakes his head down at her. "God Griffin, you are such a fucking mess."

Just like this morning, his tone belies his feelings. And despite the words themselves, the sheer and utter relief in his voice is almost embarrassing. 

It takes a moment for the darkness to fade to blurriness and then another for Bellamy's face to sharpen. The firelight glows behind him and the fondness on his face is palpable. 

Between the body numbing exhaustion and Bellamy's devastatingly wrecked, vulnerable expression, something in Clarke snaps. 

And before she's even aware, she is sobbing. 

It's like something exploded within her and her tired mind lost all control over her weakened body. The sounds coming out of her are awful. She wailed and cried and fought for breath. 

Bellamy had her up in his arms and they were moving; his large, warm hand on the side of her head, cradling her face to his chest. 

He takes them to his tent. Clarke knows it's his tent by the smell that is so distinctly Bellamy. Her eyes are screwed shut as she shudders and shakes and cries and cries and cries. 

Bellamy just holds her for a long time, rubbing her hair with practiced ease. Like he has done this a million times before. Which he has. Just not for Clarke. Never for Clarke. 

It could have been an hour or it could have been five, Clarke didn't really know. But by the time her sobs putter out to whimpers, and then whimpers to heavy, labored breaths, they are laying on his bed and she is curled up into his side. 

"I'm so sorry," she rasps, her voice croaky and breaking over every word. "For everything. For the mountain and for tonDC and for pushing you and, and everyone..-- I just, I'm so....." she shakes her aching head, at a loss for words. She had been quiet for a long time. She didn't know how to express what she wanted to. She didn't know how to vocalize what was trapped inside her, clawing to get out. 

Bellamy shakes his head as well and hushes her softly, pulling her into him as his tent flaps open and someone appears with a bowl in hand. The person - whoever it is, Clarke can't tell or care - sets the bowl down on a small makeshift table next to the bed and then leaves. 

Only once the person is gone does Bellamy lean away from her, and she immediately feels a loss. 

But he reaches and picks something up, then turns right back into her, and she's warm again. 

She narrows her eyes when she sees what he's holding up to her lips. 

A small red berry. The kind Clarke loves but never lets herself have. Because they are too much of a delicacy. She doesn't deserve something so sweet and full of flavor when the trail she leaves behind her is one of decay and death. 

She eyes the berry, and then looks back at Bellamy. "I can feed myself you know," she rasps out softly, then instinctively bites her teeth together, but Bellamy just holds the fruit by her mouth. She doesn't relent - finding the gesture he's suggesting entirely too intimate to engage in - but then he presses the berry to her lips. And he begs. "Please."

His voice is quiet and so, so sad. And Clarke tries to think back to a time she had ever heard Bellamy Blake say please this way.

She remembers.

He had sounded just as broken then.

She doesn't want to be the one doing that to him anymore. There is no strength or resolve left in her. So she opens her lips. And he pops the berry in. She chews slowly, carefully, savoring the explosion of tart and sweet while never breaking eye contact with his deep brown.

He feeds her until all the fruit is gone, and then he nudges on her shoulder so she's flat on her back and lifts her head slightly. He pours water in her mouth. She drinks greedily. 

By the time they are both laid back down on their sides, facing each other, her head is no longer foggy, and though her throat aches with tightness, she feels a little better. 

It should be ridiculous - Bellamy feeding her berried fruits in bed like the start of a bad pre-cataclysmic porno. But really it just feels incredibly tender.

They lay still for another moment before Bellamy inhales deeply. 

"I know you don't think you deserve to be forgiven," he starts. "But when I didn't want to forgive myself, you MADE me. When I tried to offer you forgiveness after the mountain, I understood when you couldn't take it. And, Clarke...I let you try it your way. I let you leave and even once you came back I gave you space. But I can't anymore. I can't just standby and....We're going to do this my way now."

He breathes out heavily once he's done, as though he's been waiting to say those words, and his sigh falls hot against her face. 

"I am so grateful you came back. But you haven't been here. You need to come back for real Clarke. You need to be healthy and...and here. We need you so much princess. I need you."

Her look is appraising. She's considering him, thoughtful and intense. She hasn't looked at him this way in so long and with a painful jolt of his heart he finally feels just how desperately he's missed her this past month. Having her here, present but empty was better than having her missing and lost, but only just. It made the absence more potent when he had to see her every day. 

"I'm not sleeping with Murphy."

It's pretty much the last thing he expects her to say, and after a moment of silence, he bursts out chuckling. "Oh, thank god."

He's looking at her again. With that fondness. That stupid fucking fond freckled face. 

And it has her leaning forward, just an inch, but enough to nearly close the space between their lips. He looks at her, eyes heavy, and she stares back. 

And then their lips collide. 

His are warm and soft, while Clarke's are cold and cracked, but she tastes like salvation and pain and home. 

It's a kiss like nothing he has ever experienced.

After a few minutes of exploring each other's mouths, her hand slides under his shirt and up his chest. Her cold fingers are like bolts of lightening to his skin. 

He smiles against her lips, kisses her once more, then pulls back, smiling even wider when she makes a little sound of displeasure. 

He kisses her forehead, and then her nose, and then rubs his nose against hers in an impossibly cheesy way that Bellamy never would have thought he'd have the impulse  
to do. 

"What were you doing in his tent every night then?" he murmurs, thumb stroking her soft cheek. 

Clarke looks a down little embarrassed, but then turns her face in his palm and kisses it lightly. 

"We were sharing the bed. For body heat."

Bellamy's chest clenches painfully. "You went to Murphy over me?" He can't mask the heartbreak in his voice, but he also doesn't want to. 

"I....I wasn't ready. For it to be you. I knew," she swallows hard and Bellamy feels it against his palm. He rubs her nose lightly again in encouragement. "I knew how it would feel. If you held me. Safe and warm. I didn't think I deserved it."

"And now?"

"I still don't" she breathes, honest. 

"Will you let me hold you anyway?"

He's smiling down at her. It's his shit-eating grin like he already knows the answer (cause duh - technically holding her currently) but her body has given up on fighting and her own smile begins. Small and unsure. He just keeps grinning away at her, and his smile is fucking contagious. She's smiling. It's not like before. But it's real. 

Someone clears their throat. 

"Not that this isn't sickeningly adorable, but we're important people. We have lives to get back to over here. Is she okay or what?"

He turns over to look at the group of people who had entered without either him or Clark noticing. At Octavia; strong and brave, more than he'd ever dreamed she would get the chance to be. At Lincoln, the loyal, steady support at his sisters back. 

At Raven and Wick, who are smirking at each other non so discreetly. (There may have been a bet. A dirty one. And even though there was no real loser in either outcome, the look on Raven's face makes it perfectly clear she had won.)

At Jasper. The boy who still looked like a kid despite all the hardship he'd seen. At Monty and Miller who stumble in after him, faces earnest as their eyes seek out Clarke. 

At his friends. Their friends. Their family. 

And dysfunctional and broken and burdened as they were, Bellamy couldn't imagine a world in which they didn't exist as one unit. They had come together in the most trying of ways, but they had come together all the same.

He turned back to face the small blonde, not knowing quite how to respond to his sister. But Clarke meets his gaze, strong and unwavering, so familiar, and Bellamy's lip curls upwards. She is present. She is Clarke and she is with him. 

"She's going to be."

And for the first time in a long time, he believes it.


End file.
